


Old Man's War

by Zelos



Series: The Burial of the Guns [2]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Aftermath, Friendship, Gen, Loss, after the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:37:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelos/pseuds/Zelos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><For freedom.><br/><Well earned,> and Arbron's voice held as much longing as it did Andalite pride.</p><p>Alloran-Semitur-Corrass, and coming home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Man's War

They found him against a massive tree, devouring what looked to be a large monkey; he momentarily froze, awed and horrified at the sight. He has seen many, many Taxxons, but watching them feed, with that urgency and insatiable desperation, never failed to amaze and revolt him at the same time.

Oddly enough, the Taxxon seemed right at home – the segmented, elongated body, the ripping mouth ringed with teeth, the quivering, bulbous eyes all seemed appropriate in this land of birds and simians and snakes with no name. Lizards and flowers and frogs in bright, warning colours flashed around them, swarms of insects threatened to eat one alive; a Taxxon seemed more suited to this land of extreme, extraordinary, dangerous creatures than its own home world.

Beside him, Aximili shifted. <Arbron.>

The Taxxon paused in its feasting, then straightened. <Aximili,> Arbron replied. <What – > He froze as he spotted his second visitor.

Alloran stepped forward slowly, hands and tail lowered, indicating no threat.

<I shall wait over there,> and Aximili quickly exited before either could reply.

<Hello, Arbron,> Alloran eventually said, stopping mere feet away from the Taxxon.

<War-Prince Alloran,> Arbron replied neutrally, and Alloran flinched.

<...I...do not deserve to be called that.>

Arbron did not respond.

A long moment passed in silence as Andalite and Taxxon stared at each other, sizing each other up. The Taxxon's lower body lashed this way and that – a threat, or to chase away pests? Regardless, Alloran kept as still as possible, despite the swarms of insects hovering about them like a cloud.

The surroundings seemed to be devoid of any sapient life save for Arbron and himself. He had been told the other Taxxons had become _nothlits_ of some stripe, though he did not know of what.

<Where are the others?>

<Resting,> Arbron replied, still in that carefully neutral tone – so different from when he'd last heard him speak. Then again, it has been many years since. <They do not need to feed often.>

Alloran fell silent again, at a loss of what to say.

It was Arbron who broke the silence, moments later; the Taxxon turned to look at the ferns and bushes Aximili had crashed through as he exited.

<They are very much alike,> Arbron commented, his voice faintly wry.

Alloran followed his gaze with one stalk eye, his face still trained on Arbron. <They are. Heroism must run in the family.>

<Along with the obstinate stubbornness,> and that had the faintest threads of laughter woven in, the old Arbron’s (good natured and not) mockery shining through just briefly. Alloran remembered how Arbron and Elfangor had been in constant competition, both _arisths_ eager to prove himself.

<I…> Alloran began, then petered off again; explanations were inadequate. He struggled with the words, before finally settling with, <thank you. And…I am sorry.>

<You have suffered,> Arbron said, turning back to Alloran, his voice again carefully neutral; Alloran searched the Taxxon face that he could not read, and found neither forgiveness nor damnation.

 _So have you_ , but Alloran dared not say it, strangely afraid of his old _aristh_ ’s judgement.

He turned his face towards the monkey’s half-eaten carcass; though he has seen far worse in his years of war, the sight was no less revolting. The Taxxon, noticing his attention, stared at him steadily, defiant and unashamed.

Alloran looked away altogether, sick with guilt and shame and _relief._ Arbron would never again run free under the Andalite suns, tasting homeland grass as the _kafit_ birds flew overhead; he would forever be hungry, devouring whatever he could find, eternally enslaved by the insatiable Taxxon hunger. Arbron would never be _free_ , whereas Alloran – _finally_ – was. Whatever punishment awaited him at home meant nothing; the harshest Andalite law was a pardon compared to infestation.

It was foolish to come here, apology be damned, when his very existence threw all that Arbron had lost into the _nothlit_ 's face. Why had he come?

<I must go,> Alloran eventually said, looking back up at Arbron. There was a transport waiting for him and Aximili, heading back to the Andalite homeworld. <Farewell, Warrior Arbron.>

<Farewell…my prince.>

Alloran froze, stared with all four eyes. The Taxxon stared back with grotesque eyes of quivering red. Taxxons could no more smile than they could grow tails, but Arbron conveyed it all the same.

When he’d regained his wits, Alloran reached over with his tail; Arbron hesitated, then rose to his full Taxxon height, reaching one clawed leg to touch the blade.

<For freedom.>

<Well earned,> and Arbron's voice held as much longing as it did Andalite pride. It made Alloran's hearts ache.

A long moment later, the Taxxon broke contact, turning away; he paused briefly to look at where Aximili had gone, doubtless saying a private farewell. The clawed legs shifted in an awkward wave and Arbron shuffled into the jungle's depth.

It was a while before Alloran left to go join Aximili.

 

Aximili escorted Alloran back, though he and the other warriors stopped a little ways away from Alloran’s old scoop. The young prince and newly minted hero had briefly touched tail blades with him before leaving with the rest; Alloran was touched by the display of grace.

The scoop had changed little – the same oval bowl, the blue-plex awning – though he really paid it no attention; no, what captivated him were the three Andalites standing there. Evidently they had been alerted of his imminent arrival.

His two children – how they had grown! – were wary, standing stiffly in the back, their tails arched and twitching, their faces guarded and completely blank. He could not blame them; doubtless having a pariah for a father was embarrassing, and that was _before_ he was turned into the Abomination.

Jahar looked older, her fur bleached by the suns; there was a dullness to her hooves and a weariness to her eyes that he did not remember. The years had been hard on her, his disgrace even more so.

She was staring at him now, all four eyes trained on his face. <Al…Alloran?>

< _Jahar_ ,> and his voice shook a little. She did not come up to him, but did not back away as he approached. But, at arm’s length, her quivering tail arced up to meet his.

In a very human display, Alloran gathered her hands in his; after a long moment, Jahar closed her eyes and laid her head against his shoulder.

<Jahar…I am home.>

 

In the long ever after, Alloran expected and received little (no) visitors. He was a disgrace to his people and despised by many (all), and even his children were still guarded around him when they visited. Jahar stayed, though he did not know if she would remain so. He did not know a lot of things, now.

After a lifetime of war and horror, he rather embraced the quietness of solitude. The Andalite military has no further use for him – though to be fair, the fleet was rapidly shrinking in peacetime, and many _honoured_ warriors were being discharged as well. He has thought little of what to do in the after, and in a surprising show of grace, neither the Andalite Electorate nor the High Command pressed him, and left him (largely) alone.

Alloran was certain that they kept him under watch, likely afraid he would lose his mind or morph some bizarre monster (he has not morphed since the Yeerk exited his body, and has no intentions on starting again). Alloran did not care, so long as they did not directly interfere.

<Alloran!> Jahar called one random afternoon as he was grazing under his favourite tree. <Prince Aximili has arrived.>

Alloran turned, completely surprised. The duties (and, Alloran admitted without rancour or envy, the glory) of being the Great Aximili, hero of the Andalites and humans, should leave Aximili little time for visits. Especially to visit _him_ , of all people.

Alloran trotted over rapidly, and sure enough, Aximili was waiting. Upon seeing Alloran, he made the traditional – and completely unnecessary, given the circumstances – bow of respect. <War-Prince Alloran.>

Alloran flinched, but just barely. From Aximili, it was not meant to be a mockery. <Prince Aximili,> he returned. <It is an honour.>

Aximili looked unsettled by the formal address, but went on. <I come bearing bad news. Arbron…is dead. Human poachers have shot him.>

Alloran took a moment to absorb that information, and tried to comprehend why _he_ , of all people, was being told.

Aximili sensed his confusion. <His body has been transported back home. There is a quiet service being held three days from now.>

<And _I_ am invited?> He could not keep the incredulity from his voice.

Aximili smiled sadly. <I dared not ask. But his family said that you are…welcome to visit the memorial on your own time, if you want to.>

Alloran only nodded (he picked up some things from the humans, too).

Aximili studied him, and finally said with great hesitance, <Would you mind my accompanying you, when you do?>

<…I would like that.>

 

<I heard that you trained my brother and Arbron, once,> Aximili said.

Alloran gave a short, hollow laugh. <I would not call it trained. They served under me, yes, for a brief while.> _And look what that got them._

<I know little about that time.> Aximili's tail drew lazily across the grass; he looked...pensive. <Elfangor had spoken little about…well, any of his missions, but especially that one.>

<It was…complicated.> Esplin 9466 had spoken little of that time to his brother Yeerks, as well. Hard to explain that you'd lost so valuable an asset as the Time Matrix. Harder still to recount the horrors.

Aximili looked askance at him with one stalk eye, a hint of embarrassment on his features...and Alloran suddenly understood.

<You want to know about it.> Alloran has never offered to reveal what had happened then, as it was irrelevant after the war ended and he has little desire to relive the days when he had been captured by the Yeerks. But, standing in front of Arbron’s memorial, it did not seem like a bad idea.

Besides, Arbron had been a hero as well, if much less famous than Elfangor, and his story was one that he was no longer around to tell.

<…yes. I would like to know how Elfangor and Arbron...became who they were.> Even after death, the younger brother still idolized the elder, despite being a great hero himself.

Elfangor did not have a body to bury – for obvious reasons – and Alloran has never dared to ask to pay his respects to his former subordinate. It seemed more insult than respect. He wondered what Aximili’s parents thought about their second child consorting with the murderer of their first.

Aximili was still watching him, looking a little hopeful. Alloran shifted his weight to his rear legs, stalk eyes drawn to the red and gold of the sky. <It began when we caught a Skirt-Na Raider...>

 

Aximili did not visit often, caught up as he was being the liaison to Earth and whatever great duties being an Andalite hero entailed. But he still came by for a few hours during his infrequent leaves.

<You do not have to come,> Alloran told Aximili after his third visit. He did not need pity.

Aximili looked surprised, and a little injured. <Am I not welcome?>

Alloran did not know how to immediately answer. <It would do little for your image.>

<I have violated, by word and deed, more Andalite military codes than I can count,> Aximili informed him, a flare of anger in the words. <Do you think my _image_ will stop me, of all things?>

Alloran fought his bitterness – what lucky few, to flaunt the rules and still be loved – but never spoke of the matter again.

 

He found himself looking oddly forward to the young Andalite's visits, after a while. For a war-hero, Aximili was without (well, with very little) rancour or arrogance, at least by Andalite standards. He was a refreshing change from the disgust/suspicion/pity/mockery Alloran received from other Andalites, the few times Alloran saw them. And during the trial of Visser One, Aximili's presence beside Alloran proved a great comfort.

Alloran was glad he had not been called upon to testify. Hearing it had been enough.

The two sometimes shared stories, some of which had not been told to any other Andalite. Partly because of security reasons. Partly because they understood each other. They were the two Andalites who'd _lived_ through the war on Earth, not learned of it light-years away through holos and controlled communications.

Alloran told Aximili – with as little bitterness and rancour as he could manage – about the Yeerk Empire, its uprising and downfall, the stars he visited while enslaved. Aximili told him of the other Animorphs, the auxiliary Animorphs, the Yeerk Peace Movement, and even of Arbat. ( _That_ had been painful, to realize his brother went down the same path as he.) Even then, Aximili did not tell the whole truth – an _aristh_ alone could not have hacked through Apex-level encryption in minutes, for example – but Alloran did not press. Some secrets were not yours to share.

Except for one detail. <Where is the Time Matrix now?>

Aximili looked back at him, eyes guarded. <I do not know.>

Perhaps he was lying. Perhaps it was just as well. Such a device, Alloran now knew, was best left hidden from all who wished to use it. Alloran would have taken the knowledge of the Time Matrix to his grave had Aximili not admitted first that he knew of it, and knew that Elfangor was somehow involved.

But... <Then why tell me at all?>

And Aximili looked back at him, suddenly looking far older than he was. <Because...only us six, us Animorphs, know the whole truth. We have not all lived, and I will likely outlive them all. I...do not think I could stand to be the only one alive to know the truth.>

Alloran thought that was probably why he himself confided in Aximili, as well.

 

Years later, when all had given up hope of finding Aximili, when even news (rumours) of Jake Berenson's search party had been swallowed by the cold vacuum of space, Alloran remembered Aximili's words, and thought – bleakly, wearily – that again, few things changed.

He rested his hand against his _Garibah_ , his guide tree, heard the tree speak wordlessly to him in its deep, simple, powerful way, and spoke back.

It was not the same. No tree, no matter how wise, could understand tales of war, battle, deceit, betrayal, of all that occurred in the vastness of space. But it heard his regret, hopes, guilt, rage and shame.

Being heard still helped.

**Author's Note:**

> There is something about how minor characters end up after the main storyline ends that always fascinates me, and though we never had many Andalites with enough of a personality to play with, I missed knowing more about Alloran. (And Estrid as well, though she did not fit with this.) Ax was the only one whom I can see offering Alloran a little more compassion compared to other Andalites (seeing as we really know too little about, well, the entire race).


End file.
